All Those Faerie Tales
by microfilariae
Summary: He's no knight in shining armor-if anybody fit that description, it's her-and their romance is anything but faerietale. Inspired by Maroon 5's "Payphone".


_I'm at a payphone_

_Trying to call home_

_All of my change I spent on you_

_Where have the times gone?_

_Baby it's all wrong_

_Where are the plans we made for two?_

Another blast of chaotic magical energy collided with the artifact in his hands, the odd heat emanating from Xandra's spell burning his fingertips as he broke into a run yet again.

He couldn't keep this up forever. He was going to die; he'd all but planned on it. Hanso knew his idea hinged on his being in mortal danger and probably not escaping it, and while he did not allow his expression to show it, he was absolutely terrified.

Not of dying, though.

Hanso hadn't feared death since he was small. He'd spent the majority of his life fending for himself, warding off starvation and other deadly adversaries by the narrowest possible margin. There had been nights—many of them—when he'd fully expected to not wake up when dawn finally came. That was part of his way of life; nobody could be a respectable thief without acknowledging that they were perpetually seconds away from a fatal mistake. He'd always figured that it'd be a trap that finally got him, or perhaps an angry woman he'd relieved of some frankly excessive jewelry. That it would be magic was actually sort of interesting; he wondered if it would hurt, or if he'd turn into anything unusual before it all ended. Maybe something with pointy teeth so that he could bite Xandra in the ass with his last breath… that'd be funny.

Less funny was what might happen to Brynn. His plan succeeding might not necessarily mean she was out of danger, and for that reason he was terrified. Hanso knew perfectly well that he was clever; he'd not have lived this long if he wasn't. In the end, though, he had very little knowledge about magic and he'd formulated this particular plan in mere seconds. There was no knowing if the magic he planned to release would react powerfully enough to harm Brynn, or if it'd even do what he wanted it to do. There had been no alternative, and he was still convinced that he'd followed the best course of action, but not being able to make sure Brynn was safe… that was almost enough to make him reconsider.

That his mind was on her did not surprise him. It was natural, wasn't it, for a dying man to think of those he cared for most? As he watched her raise her sword to hack away at a creature made of pure darkness, he couldn't help but think about how beautiful, how courageous, how selfless she was… about how she could've been his if things had gone differently.

If this were an old-fashioned faerie tale, they'd have ended up together or at least had a dramatic moment in which they realized their love for each other. Wasn't that how it always went? The knight in shining armor, warding off evil for the sake of his love, mindless of the danger to his own life? Then again, he was hardly a knight in shining armor… if anyone fit that description, it was her. The people who were like him in the stories, the liars and thieves and scoundrels, they didn't get happy endings… not even in real life.

If he'd been allowed to design the way things turned out, she'd never have been forced to fight a demonic elemental monster and he'd never have had to let a deranged sorceress take his life so that a bunch of people he didn't care about didn't get destroyed by her insanity. If he'd had his way, he'd have spent the rest of his days at Brynn's side. Oh, she'd have become annoyed with him plenty of times, threatened to leave him if he stole one more precious treasure, but in his imagination they always made up and they were never apart for long. They'd have got married properly, probably in Brightvale, where they'd met. It'd have to be in summer, when the light from the stained-glass windows would dance over them brilliantly as they swore to love and protect each other for the rest of their lives. She'd have become a mother, and he a father, and their kids would've been equal parts of the both of them, with his cunning and penchant for mischief but her level head and brave, giving heart. The kids would grow up, and the pair of them would grow old together, reflecting in their old age on how much trouble they used to get into.

It was a pretty fantasy, but it was never going to happen. As each new bolt of volatile magic sped towards him, he lamented the loss of even a remote chance at having that life. Even if he survived, his story wouldn't have ended exactly that way. _Their_ story would've had a few more twists and turns, and probably a lot more fighting, but it still would've been _theirs_.

Now he wouldn't even have that. He'd be dead soon, and she'd never know how he'd really wanted things to be.

_I, I know it's hard to remember_

_The people we used to be_

_It's even harder to picture_

_That you're not here next to me_

_You say it's too late to make it_

_But is it too late to try?_

_And in that time that you wasted_

_All of our bridges burned down_

_I'm wasting my nights_

_You turned out the lights_

_Now I'm paralyzed_

_Still stuck in that time when_

_We called it love but_

_Even the sun sets in paradise_

On the day they met, the sun was shining. He'd just arrived in the tiny kingdom of Brightvale after several years of wandering and he'd fallen in love the moment he'd set eyes on it. Brightvale was the sort of place a thief lived for; quiet, peaceful and unassuming, it was a kingdom where everybody knew everybody and trusted each other with their lives. More importantly, it was the kind of kingdom where the guards were probably volunteers who'd never seen a real battle and wouldn't prove very hard to outwit or overpower. He'd be able to rob the place blind before they even knew what hit them.

It wasn't until he had a sword to his throat and an irate kougra standing over him that he figured out his first impression of the town had been wrong. Apparently, at least _one_ of the guards was well-trained… and based on what she was saying to him, plenty educated on the wily tricks of thieves. He'd been clever, though, and put on a show where he cried and hyperventilated and made up a sob story about his sick grandmother in a nearby kingdom whose last wish was to have the item he'd taken… and she'd bought it with a look of concern on her face, even offering him advice on the fastest route home.

Getting caught with his hand in the pocket of somebody else hours later had been a bad mistake. He saw the fires of outrage ignite in her eyes and her trust in him fly out the stained-glass windows that everybody in the town seemed to have. When she'd arrested him, he'd tried to charm her once more and failed miserably. His memory was a little fuzzy, probably because she'd whacked him on the head with her shield at one point, but he thought he remembered complimenting her figure, receiving a swift kick to the groin and a subsequent beat-down the likes of which he'd never experienced before or since. Not only that, but she'd managed to work out where he was hiding all his favorite escaping tools and put them somewhere where he'd been unable to get at them. When he finally became fully lucid once more, Hanso knew he'd finally found the one.

His prison sentence expired quickly—it was only Brightvale, after all—and he made it his mission in life to get to know her better. The trouble was that he'd never really been taught how to express his interest in a normal way; the closest thing anybody in the thieves' guild had ever got to love was the paid-for-in-advance kind… so he'd had to work with what he did know: stealing. Time after time he deliberately made mistakes that allowed her to capture and apprehend him, and, to his surprise and delight, with each arrest she became less and less hostile towards him. Her hatred of him melted into mere annoyance and eventually segued into pity. Hanso wasn't a miracle worker; he couldn't make romance out of hate, but he _could _start from pity and work from there.

After awhile, they started meeting outside of a professional context. He'd approach her when she was working and offer her a drink of water or a snack, and because she worked so hard, she was always thirsty or hungry. Soon enough they were meeting regularly for lunch… even when he'd landed himself in jail she'd find time to sit by his cell and eat with him. Sometimes she'd even share.

He could remember a day in the autumn when it had been grey outside with just the barest hint of sunshine bleeding through the clouds. They'd been walking in the outskirts of town, dodging the patches of thorny wild berries that grew in the grass. She was tired, so they sat down by a large oak tree and he went and picked some berries for them to munch on. One of the ones she picked out of the pile he'd brought back wasn't ripe, and she'd spat it out with a look of disgust on her face. To make it better, he'd held a ripe one out to her and had been completely unprepared when she plucked it tenderly from between his fingers with her mouth, her lips just barely brushing his skin. When she'd smiled after, it had taken every ounce of resolve he possessed not to bare his soul then and there. If he closed his eyes and remembered, he could still picture the way the faint trace of sunlight peeking out from behind the cloud-cover had danced through her hair, how her laugh had sounded when he'd cracked a joke, how her lips had felt on the tips of his fingers.

Sometimes, when she'd been a little angrier than usual at his criminal antics and locked him up without visiting, he'd fall asleep picturing that day in the autumn when everything had been perfect.

_I'm at a payphone_

_Trying to call home_

_All of my change I spent on you_

_Where have the times gone?_

_Baby it's all wrong_

_Where are the plans we made for two?_

_If happy-ever-after did exist_

_I would still be holding you like this_

_All those faerie tales are full of shit_

_One more fucking love song, I'll be sick_

The next burst of magic grazed his ear; he was running out of time. The longer he waited, the longer he egged Xandra on and baited her into chasing him, the angrier she became. Eventually she'd lose her patience with him entirely and opt to just kill him instead of play his little game. Still, thus far, his plan was working. Hanso wasn't certain if it was his own fast reflexes or if the sorceress just had really poor hand-eye coordination, but he'd been able to either dodge her attacks or, when things worked out more in his favor, use the artifact to absorb them. The artifact itself felt different now in a way he couldn't quite describe. It was almost as if he'd been trapping living things inside of it, the way the metal seemed to hum and quiver with each additional bit of energy.

Playing to her arrogance had been a good move, but it would only take him so far. It was hard to come up with a backup plan when he couldn't even pause to catch his breath. He hadn't even bothered to try and figure out how Brynn was doing… if he took his eyes off of Xandra for a moment, she'd likely zap him into whatever life came after this one…

… And then she'd go after Brynn; the kougra could manage the monster she was currently battling just fine, but that… thing and Xandra at the same time would prove fatal to anyone.

The artifact buzzed again as another of Xandra's attacks barreled into it. He couldn't tell how he knew, but he understood somehow that it wasn't quite ready for what he intended… but it was getting closer. He had to hold out for a while longer, which meant it was time to break out a few one-liners and hope that Xandra was still cocky enough to assume he was making things up as he went along.

Scary as it was to think about, he sort of _was_.

_You turned your back on tomorrow_

'_Cause you forgot yesterday_

_I gave you my love to borrow_

_But you just gave it away_

_You can't expect me to be fine_

_I don't expect you to care_

_I know I said it before but_

_All of our bridges burned down_

_I'm wasting my nights_

_You turned out the lights_

_Now I'm paralyzed_

_Still stuck in that time when_

_We called it love but_

_Even the sun sets in paradise_

They fought a lot; he'd always heard people say that communication was the cornerstone of a healthy relationship, but it seemed to Hanso that the amount of arguing they did was at least a little excessive. It seemed like more than half of their little meet-ups ended with Brynn being furious with him and him begging and pleading for another chance to prove he wasn't the worthless low-life he acted like. Every single time he messed up, she'd go on and on about how it wasn't worth helping him out because he'd just turn around and make the same mistakes again. Sometimes she'd let him sit in jail for days on end before she came back…

… But she always came back, for reasons he'd never know. One time in particular, she'd locked him up for over two weeks. At first he'd been livid; all he'd done was steal a few low-value items from a family of tourists. He'd done worse in the past and she'd let him go with a warning and a roll of her eyes. As the days had gone on, though, and her face failed to appear between the bars of his cell door, he started to worry that she'd left him for good this time. He went over all the things he'd done in the past and tried to rationalize his fears away; she'd be back, she always came back for him in the end. But by the time a week had gone by and she still hadn't so much as visited him, no amount of lying to himself would help. After everything he'd done, after everything she'd forgiven, he'd finally driven her away. He'd spent the rest of his time in the Brightvale dungeons crying quietly in the corner and praying to nobody in particular that she'd change her mind and give him one last chance. This time would be different. This time he'd make up for everything he'd done wrong and prove to her that he was worth her time.

This time he'd tell her he loved her.

When the two weeks had ended and she approached his cell with a frown on her face, he'd feared she'd come to confirm his worst fear. Instead, she unlocked his cell and gestured for him to leave. Abandoning any remaining dignity he had, he fell onto his hands and knees in front of her and apologized so many times that the words became almost hypnotic… and then Brynn, without a single word in response, picked him up off the floor and pulled him into a hug. She told him that she believed him, that this time he'd really change his ways and that she hoped a little extra time in the dungeon had helped to put things in perspective for him. Things were a little rough between them for awhile, but eventually he saw that familiar, friendly look in her eyes return.

It hadn't been the last time, of course. He'd known in his heart that he'd go back to his old ways again, and maybe she'd known too. Maybe they were both so resigned to being stuck in the same roles they'd been playing for so long that neither of them cared anymore.

They fought again, because he disappointed her again. He couldn't seem to stop.

_I'm at a payphone_

_Trying to call home_

_All of my change I spent on you_

_Where have the times gone?_

_Baby it's all wrong_

_Where are the plans we made for two?_

Luck smiled on him for a moment. Xandra appeared to be a little fatigued and paused in her onslaught to… recharge? That's what it looked like. He took the precious few seconds she hadn't wanted to give him to duck behind a chunk of rubble that had landed near them when Faerieland collapsed. Thinking about the magnitude of what had happened wasn't something Hanso could manage at the moment… not when his entire world was locked in a death-match with something close to the embodiment of evil itself. He peered out from behind the meager shelter the debris offered and was thrilled to see that Brynn was still alive and kicking.

She cut at the abominable thing once, twice, three times in a row, eliciting howls of agony from the creature. Never faltering, she continued on the offensive and stabbed at the monster's leg. Hanso grinned as the thing grabbed at its kneecap, its face contorted into a horrific parody of pain. A warrior through and through, Brynn kept fighting, her will alone seemingly preventing the beast from gaining any ground.

A thought occurred to Hanso then, one that he'd not bothered to consider before. She didn't need him. If he was to drop dead right then and there, she'd be able to keep fighting with all her might. If Xandra killed him and tried to do the same to her, she might not make it, but she'd never go down without giving the crazed woman a black eye first. Hell, she might even be able to take Xandra and that thing down. The way she looked right now, strong and bold and utterly confident, Hanso felt like she could've done anything.

An odd, sizzling noise and Xandra was back in the fray, launching ball after ball of magic in his direction. When yet another blast beamed into the artifact, it felt as if the thing was nearly ready.

Just a little longer. After that, he knew that Brynn would have no choice but to try and do this on her own.

_If happy-ever-after did exist_

_I would still be holding you like this_

_All those faerie tales are full of shit_

_One more fucking love song, I'll be sick_

It wasn't fair. Who was she to judge him? She'd almost certainly never known what it was like to be poor, what it was like to watch your mother die in front of you and know that you couldn't afford the medicine she needed to get better. He could barely remember his mother's voice anymore; he'd been so young when she'd perished. Her face, too, had dimmed in his memory. Brynn had probably grown up with both parents in her life, and they'd probably doted on her and loved her and encouraged her in everything she did. He'd had none of that. When he wanted something, there was no loving parent to give it to him. When he'd been lonely, there had never been anyone to comfort him. When there were days he felt like he couldn't do it anymore, that survival was out of his reach, the only person who'd talk him off the ledge was him.

Stealing had been his salvation, his only hope… at least, that's how it had been at first. Then the Thieves' Guild had entered his life and shown him how to turn what had been simple survival into a real, profitable career. They'd been impressed by him, or so they said; they'd praised his considerable skill and wooed him into the fold with promises of honing that skill into true talent. That he'd found his way into a group of nefarious criminals… well, they'd left that out. For a few years he'd been ignorant to all the politics and drama, relishing having comrades around him who appreciated what he did. When the truth of all that was going on in the Guild became apparent, he ran and never looked back. Stealing was one thing, but the darkness stirring at the heart of the Guild was something he had no desire to become a part of.

Not that it mattered to Brynn that he'd left of his own free will. She'd heard he'd been a part of the Thieves Guild and had never seen him the same after; oh, she talked to him and endured his presence, but he could see in her eyes that she'd lost some respect for him. Still, he'd always imagined she trusted him. After all they'd been through together, he liked to think she knew the real him. She might've been the only person who ever had.

Or so he thought. Her words to that group of pompous, self-righteous heroes had shattered that notion like so much glass. When she'd acquiesced to locking him in the Brightvale dungeons, it wasn't a stretch to say that she'd broken his heart.

Where had he gone wrong? What had been the tipping point? Did she really think it was him behind this convoluted mess? So many questions, and she wouldn't answer any of them.

But then she'd apologized and explained to him that all those years of placing her trust in him had nearly cost her a job, among other things. He suddenly felt like a selfish monster for even thinking badly of her. How badly had he damaged her reputation amongst the other guards? How many warnings had she been given about being fired, or worse, seen as an accomplice? All those times he'd snuck out of the dungeons or made her arresting him into a big joke, how much had that cost her?

This time, when she'd locked him up, he didn't put up much of a fight. He didn't deserve her trust, much as he longed for it. For the first time he'd seen himself as he must look in her eyes; as a pathetic loser who'd been given far too many chances… as the man she kept forgiving, even when she knew he'd just hurt her again.

He'd seen her heart shatter when she thought he was siding with Xandra, and he'd seen her pick herself off, dust herself off and throw herself head-first into the fray when he'd revealed it had been a ruse. Though he'd said nothing, he'd also heard her start to say what he'd always dreamed of hearing her tell him. In spite of everything he'd done, in spite of the fact that the world had gone to hell and there was a good chance neither of them were getting out of this alive, she'd loved him and when she'd thought he was about to pass a point of no return, she'd tried to call him back with that love.

If there had been time, he'd have liked to come up with some kind of clever-but-heartfelt response, some kind of "I knew it all along" speech, and then he'd have told her what he should've told her a long, long time ago.

But there hadn't been time, and now there wouldn't be. It was probably just as well; maybe it was better for him to die with her thinking that her love for him had been in vain, that he'd been nothing more than a greedy bastard and that she'd be better off without him. It was the truth, wasn't it? If he stayed in her life he'd bring her nothing but trouble. The same old story would play out over the years; he'd mess it all up and she'd clean up his messes even when he didn't deserve it. Without him in the picture, she could move on and have the life she deserved to have, with someone who'd give as much as he took and bring her nothing but happiness. He'd probably be a real upstanding-citizen kind of guy, maybe even a knight like her. They'd probably get married and have piles of kids and their life would be perfect. She'd never have to worry about bailing him out of jail or lying to her superiors to save her reputation and her job.

She'd never have to save the world because of him. Hanso knew this battle they were fighting wasn't his fault, not really, but did it matter in the end? She'd become even more involved in it because of him, and now she was fighting for her life.

Another explosion of greenish energy and the artifact hummed in a way it hadn't before. It was time.

_I'm at a payphone_

_Trying to call home_

_All of my change I spent on you_

_Where have the times gone?_

_Baby it's all wrong_

_Where are the plans we made for two?_

_If happy-ever-after did exist_

_I would still be holding you like this_

_All those faerie tales are full of shit_

_One more fucking love song, I'll be sick_

For anyone else, he'd not have gone through with it, but for her… this was all he had left to give her, all he had left with which to prove to her that she mattered to him and that he wasn't quite as selfish as he'd made himself appear to be. For her he'd have given the world, but he'd settle with giving his life.

His dagger sank into the stone and the world exploded into light. He could feel the magic of the artifact overwhelming him, and, at the last moment, he realized he wasn't ready to go. He could still make things right! She'd given him chance after chance, what was one more? He'd do it, he'd change for her! Hanso raised his arms to shield himself from the blast, but it was in vain and he knew it. The feeling in his limbs was rapidly ebbing away and his mind and heart were slowing, as if his veins were suddenly filled with…

He happened to look at his leg and noticed that he was becoming stone, as the Faeries had and as the group of heroes who'd assisted them had. Well, wasn't that funny? Life's little way of reminding him that he should be the one stuck as a rock, not any of them. He'd have laughed if he could've.

The last thing he thought of as his body failed was her. No matter what got him in the end, it would've always been her he thought of when his world went dark.

_Yeah, now I'm at a payphone_

Nothing; that was what awaited him on the other side. Well, that was disappointing. Just endless, empty blackness… nothing to do, nothing to look at, just him and his thoughts alone in the void. He'd never been particularly religious, but part of him had been expecting—and maybe hoping just a little—that there would be some sort of judgmental deity awaiting his arrival so that he could at least plead his case. Sure, he'd done a hell of a lot wrong, but he'd done a few things right, and that had to count for something. Did they give points for effort? He was hoping they did.

Then again, maybe this _was_ judgment being passed on him. Perhaps to atone for all his failures in life he'd spend eternity floating in a dark, lonely place. If that was the case, whoever had thought that up had a cruel streak. Hanso could've dealt with Hell, but this was just boring. A few hours of this and he'd be wishing he could die again just so he could get out of wherever it is that he was.

Suddenly, out from the dark came a sound; it was muffled and he couldn't make out exactly what the voice was saying, but it did sound familiar. He thought for a moment, trying to connect the noise with a face…

… Jazan? He was going to spend eternity having to listen to _Jazan_? He'd been wrong. This wasn't a dull version of limbo. This _was_ Hell.

Oh, but wait! Another voice! This one… was that Altador? Alright, listening to Jazan had made sense from a this-is-Hell point of view, but Altador? Hanso was thrown. Clearly whoever was in charge of this afterlife had a few screws loose.

He heard Jazan again, and then a third voice was added to the strange cacophony of sound.

… Brynn?

She sounded closer to him than the rest of them were, and he tried to find where her voice was coming from, but everything in the void he was trapped in looked exactly the same. She wasn't there, none of them were, but he could hear them… what was going on?

If only he could hear what they were saying! Their words were a garbled mess; it was like his ears were stuffed with cotton. Did he even have ears now? He wasn't sure. Near as he could tell he didn't seem to have much of a body at all.

He wanted to leave. This place was terrible; it made his head hurt just to-

… Wait, his head hurt? That didn't make sense. His head was presumably still attached to his body, which had ceased functioning. So why did he feel pain?

Then, all at once, the darkness began to peel away and Hanso was blinded by the sudden onslaught of light and heat and sound. He tried to pull himself inward to avoid the sensory overload, but to no avail. Suddenly it felt as if there was something within him that was about to burst…

… And then, he took a breath and his eyes opened to a blue sky above him.

This wasn't Hell, nor was it heaven. This felt an awful lot like life. He looked down at his legs and found, to his delight, that they were no longer made of stone. Hanso was completely unsure of how it had happened, but he was alive!

Oh. That meant those voices he'd heard were actually Jazan, and Altador…. and Brynn.

Unable to think of anything better to say, he shrugged and spoke.

"What'd I miss?"

He still didn't consider himself religious. But if there _was_ somebody out there watching over him, they'd given him a second chance… and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to use it.


End file.
